


closer, please

by honestground



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Vaginal Sex, postgame, so nauseatingly sweet you might get diabetes, the most awkward first time in Hyrule's history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestground/pseuds/honestground
Summary: When it came to surrendering her virtue to Link, it had never been a question ofif, but more of a matter ofwhen.





	closer, please

**Author's Note:**

> [notsosilentprincess](notsosilentprincess.tumblr.com) wanted an awkward first time fic, and I am a sucker for that shit, so four rewrites later, here it is. Another one. An even more awkward one. More of my filth can be found on [my tumblr](honestground.tumblr.com).

It had been nearly six months of reluctantly saying goodnight.

It started with talking—long, long conversations, well into the night and sometimes the early hours of morning. Link had a lot of questions, about what he remembered and what he didn’t, and Zelda was more than happy to answer, filling in all the blanks for him in as much care and detail as she could manage.

But somewhere along the way, the conversations turned to kissing—hours and hours of kissing, and now Zelda thinks that they might kiss more than they talk these days. Making up for lost time, Link called it, and they had lost _a lot_ of time—one hundred years of it, and Zelda doesn’t much feel like losing any more.

Which brings her to _this._

Link made them dinner, and they ate in front of the fire while they pored over the finalized plans for the Castle Town rebuild. Link finished eating first, and then picked off Zelda’s plate until she handed it over, laughing and teasing. He grinned at her sheepishly and nudged her shoulder with his.

They moved upstairs afterwards, to lie barefoot on Link’s bed, facing each other on top of the blankets, whispering and giggling like two little kids sharing a secret. Zelda isn’t sure how long they laid there together watching the shadows climb the walls, but Link had closed the distance and kissed her at some point, and by the time they resurfaced, the fire was burning low and the sun had long since set.

The darkness brings a chill to Hateno Village, and with it, a reminder: their time was up for the day, and her appointed knight would escort Zelda back to her lodgings at the lab, to spend the night under Purah’s watchful eye.

Not for the first time, Link says, “We should get going.”

Neither of them make any attempt to move, fingers laced together between them. “I want to stay,” Zelda says wistfully. “I always want to stay.”

Link blows out a laugh. “Purah would have my head.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a loss,” Zelda teases, prodding him in the chest.

“I think you’d miss my head,” Link replies. “You’d miss my face, at least.”

Zelda shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Can’t think why I would.”

Link merely hums thoughtfully, closes the space between them and kisses her, soft and lingering, until Zelda is almost lightheaded from it. When he pulls back, he grins. “Say it, you’d miss my face.”

“Fine,” Zelda relents. “I’d miss your face.” And then she pulls him in to kiss him again.

It starts off chaste—but then, it always does. Link brings one hand up to thread into her hair, and Zelda tilts her head and parts her lips, sighing when Link slips his tongue into her mouth, and suddenly what was once a slow, soft innocent kiss has turned into something deep and frantic.

Link pulls back, breathing hard. “I should—definitely get you back to the lab, I think.”

Zelda nods, her heart thudding against her ribcage. “Oh, yes, definitely,” she says, but their mouths meet again, hot and clumsy, and Zelda can only sigh and drag him closer.

It has been nearly six months of _this_. Nearly six months of fervent goodnight kisses that end in nothing but frustration and reddened faces. Six months of Zelda lying alone in bed at night, fists clenching and unclenching in her sheets, six months of her body begging: _closer, please._

They’ve never gone further than _this_ , never stepped outside the finely drawn lines of propriety, but Zelda has certainly thought about it—and judging by the way he holds her flush against him and groans softly against her mouth, she’s relatively sure Link has thought about it too.

So Zelda breaks the kiss, and they go still for a moment, hardly daring to breathe. Zelda is vividly aware of Link—his heartbeat, his body so _close_ but not close enough, the same question painted across both their faces.

“You really want to stay?” Link asks. His voice is hoarse, husky, setting off a swarm of butterflies in Zelda’s stomach.

“I—yes,” she says. And then, more firmly, “Yes. I want to.”

He inhales a sharp breath. “Does that mean—do you—” his voice breaks mid-sentence, and he makes another attempt. “Do you _want_ …?”

Heart in her throat, Zelda nods her head frantically. “Yes.”

Link stares at her with wide, blue eyes. “Are you _sure_?”

“ _Yes_.”

After a long stretch of silence, they both exhale at the same time, nervous expressions collapsing into identical grins, and Link lays his forehead gently against hers, Zelda tangling her fingers in his hair.

“Hey,” Link says.

“Hey,” Zelda echoes. “Kiss me.”

He does, gentle and cautious, now, his touch light on her waist as if he’s worried about overstepping. Zelda extracts one leg from where their ankles have wound together, unabashedly draws it up and over his hip to pull him in closer, and he makes an entirely undignified noise when their bodies connect. She can most definitely feel _something_ going on where his pelvis presses against her and it sends a thrill all the way to her toes.

“Wait, wait,” Link says, breaking the kiss, breathless. “Really? We’re really going to— _really_?”

Zelda laughs — a nervous, fluttering sound. “I mean—if I’m worth the threat of decapitation.”

“Goddesses,” Link says, “you have no idea.”

He kisses her again to punctuate it, but Zelda quickly pulls away. “We should—” she swallows nervously, tugging at his tunic, “—take these off, probably.”

“Right,” Link says, looking slightly dazed. “Probably.”

They kneel, facing each other on the bed, close enough to exchange brief, excited kisses, parting just long enough for them to lift Link’s tunic and undershirt over his head together, then reconnecting with renewed vigor. Zelda’s hands roam over his chest, fascinated with every hollow, every freckle and every scar, enthralled by the sheer solidness of him.

She then feels him working at the buttons on her blouse—they’re small and cumbersome to one unfamiliar with them, so she reaches up to help him, but he bats her hands away, murmuring, “No, no—let me.”

Zelda allows her hands to fall, and his lips part just a fraction as he concentrates, taking his time. Link has deft and talented fingers—she’s seen him string and tune a bow in less than a minute, seen the tiny, precise cuts he makes in the meat when he prepares dinner—but here he falters and fumbles, and it hits her.

_He’s nervous._

Link—the Hero of Hyrule, chosen by the sword that seals the darkness, who climbed mountains and scaled waterfalls, who leaped into a volcano without so much as a second thought, who harnessed lightning, braved fire and ice, who was brought back from the brink of death, who defeated the Calamity and found his way back to her with just the sword on his back and the courage in his heart—is _nervous_.

At last, her blouse hangs loose and open about her torso, and Link’s hands hesitantly slip beneath; calloused and battle-hardened palms sliding against the soft skin of her waist. He releases a shaky breath, and Zelda quivers at the contact, bringing her eyes up to meet his in a wordless question.

He laughs a little, thumbs tracing small circles on her hips. “I don’t—I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay.” She kisses him, and smiles when she feels his lips trying to chase her as she pulls away. “It’s just me.”

“It’s not _just_ you.” Link shakes his head. “You’ll never be _just_ anything, Zelda.”

She kisses him again to soothe him, feeling him melt against it. His hands go to her hair, kissing her deep and heated, the force of it spreading warmth to all of Zelda’s limbs. She loops her arms around him and shuffles closer, feeling his stomach sliding against hers, and the sensation of his skin on her skin is _wonderful._  But it isn’t _enough_.

She slips her shirt over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and Link’s hands skim her sides, down her arms, over her back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hand grazes her breast over her cropped bodice and Zelda gasps, pushing herself into the contact. “ _Link_.”

Link moans against her mouth, his hands roaming up her sides again, fingers trailing over the garment that still covers her chest. “Can I—how do I—”

“At the back.”

His arms wrap around her body, drawing her closer and kissing her softly as his fingers work at the clasp. After several moments of ineffective fumbling, Zelda feels his mouth curve into a frown against hers, and she can’t help but laugh a little. “Having some trouble?”

Link huffs, exasperated. “Wait, wait, I’ve got this.”

Sure enough, the constriction on her chest loosens, and Link freezes, colour blossoming over his cheeks, obviously surprised at the success of his endeavour. Zelda feels her own face heat up, but she tells him, “Go on.”

With warm, trembling hands, Link hesitantly slips the straps of the corselet off her shoulders and down her arms. Zelda averts her eyes as the garment falls away, and she hears Link release a shaky breath. “Goddesses, _Zelda_ …”

She looks up at him again. Link sits back on his ankles, utterly exalted—staring at her with a tenderness that she can only describe as _reverence,_ eyes burning into her as they travel over every inch of newly-revealed skin. He still holds her corselet, twisting it in his hands like he doesn’t know what else to do with it, so Zelda gingerly plucks it from his fingers to discard it on the floor.

He leans forward a little, gaze flitting from her mouth to her chest, and he reaches for her, uncertain. “Can I…?” he asks, and so, abruptly deciding that they’re well past the point of modesty, Zelda rises onto her knees again and climbs into his lap.

She kisses him, muffling Link’s resulting groan when their bodies connect, but she feels it more than she hears it — the force of it vibrating through his chest. Shaky hands skim her ribcage, up her torso, so Zelda takes his wrists and guides him so that her breasts fill his palms, and even her lips aren’t enough to stifle him, then. “ _Oh.”_

 _Oh_ is right. Link kisses her neck, her chest, then back up to her lips again, hands roaming over her like he can’t quite decide where he wants to touch her. He palms her breast again, his thumb brushing a nipple, and a gasp tumbles from Zelda’s mouth.

“ _Link_ ,” she breathes, and instinctively grinds down into his lap in an attempt to relieve some of the tension that has settled low in her pelvis, and she can most definitely feel him straining against his trousers, now. Link groans long and low at the contact, hips pushing up to meet her, fingers splayed at the small of her back to keep her there.

She can feel him, the stiffness and warmth of him, and Zelda is suddenly desperate, lightheaded with wanting him, fumbling between them to get his pants undone. “These need to be gone,” she insists.

“Wait, wait,” Link says, and Zelda’s about to protest, but then his mouth closes over a nipple and her objection immediately dies in her throat.

He moves from one breast to the other, dragging his mouth over heated skin as Zelda clings to him and whimpers. Soft, contented noises spilling from his mouth, Link tentatively reaches down and skims a shaking hand between her legs, over her leggings, and Zelda cries out and grinds down against his palm.

“Goddesses,” Link says, voice strained and gravelly. “You’re—you’re so—”

Zelda can probably guess at the word he was going for, but he doesn’t quite get there, because she drags his face up for another long, heated kiss. She rocks her hips down against him again, noting with pleasure the hitch in his breathing. Reluctantly, she pulls away, hands settling at his waistband again.

“Take them off, Link,” she murmurs.

“Are you—” Link says, suddenly uncertain again now that his face isn’t buried in her breasts. “Are you really, seriously sure about this?”

Zelda nods, closing her eyes. She recalls, all those months ago, looking upon him again for the first time in one hundred years, after the world had gone still and quiet around them, when she realized that her love for him had not at all diminished. She hasn’t said it yet, and neither has he—but she realizes, now, that they may never need to.

When it came to surrendering her virtue to Link, it had never been a question of _if_ , but more of a matter of _when._

 _Now_ seems like a good time.

“I’m sure,” she tells him. “I’ve had a very long time to think about it.”

She hears—and feels—Link’s breathy laugh, and then she feels herself slipping from his lap, Link’s warm arms around her as he lowers her down onto the bed. He shuffles away for just a moment to remove his breeches and Zelda takes this opportunity to rid herself of her leggings.

Their clothes hit the floor at the same time. Link sits back on his ankles, thumbs hovering uneasily on the waistband of his briefs, so Zelda mirrors him, lifting her hips off the mattress. She and Link lock eyes for just a moment, and then they remove the final garments that separate them.

And he’s… he’s flushed pink and soft-looking against his stomach, a little bead of wetness gathered at the tip, and something about the sight of it makes Zelda’s heart thrum in a way that has nothing to do with nerves. Link stares at her in disbelief, blue eyes huge, as if overwhelmed by the amount of skin suddenly available to him.

“Zelda…” he breathes.

Quiet, but insistent, Zelda says, “Come here.”

He crawls to her, lowers himself over her shakily to kiss her, her legs parting to accommodate him, and Zelda can feel him, warm and smooth and rigid against her thigh. They pause, hearts pounding and blood rushing in their ears, and it hits her then: for all their teasing and banter, there’s a mere inch of nothing but air between them, and this is it.

 _A matter of when_ , Zelda reminds herself. They’ve lost too much time, already.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Link’s sweet face. “We don’t have to,” he reminds her, because _of course_ he does.

Zelda rolls her eyes, feigning nonchalance to hide her nervousness. “Don’t pretend this was your idea.”

Link exhales an incredulous laugh, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. He braces himself with one arm, reaching down with the other, and Zelda’s heart goes to her throat. “Okay. Okay,” he says, “I’m going to—okay—”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay_.”

If Zelda thought that Link was going to deflower her in one clean, swift movement, she was mistaken. After a moment of fumbling, of Link hissing a curse through his teeth, Zelda feels him, hot and insistent against her even as they both tremble, and her head falls back with a gasp as he finally, _finally_ enters her.

They stay like that for a moment, foreheads bent together, Link breathing hard, until Zelda makes a soft noise of discomfort and shifts experimentally beneath him. A stream of obscenities fall from Link’s mouth, his head dropping to her shoulder.

“You alright?” he asks weakly, muffled against her neck.

“Wait, wait,” Zelda says, lifting her hips, trying to find a better angle, and then he’s completely flush against her, and suddenly it’s _perfect_ , and Zelda moans low in her throat. “Oh, Goddesses— _move_.”

Link does so slowly, haltingly, still quivering as if he’s afraid to put his full weight on her, and Zelda whines against his shoulder, digs her heels into his lower back to encourage him deeper. Their mouths somehow find each other again as he pushes against her clumsily, rocking into her until he finds a rhythm, and then they can’t kiss anymore. It’s too hot, too messy, altogether too _much._

“Zelda— _Zelda_ —” Link keens, voice strained, and Zelda quickly realizes that this won’t take long, and immediately snakes her hand down her torso and between her legs.

She has at least learned _something_ from six months of going to bed alone, and begins to move her fingers in small circles, gasping at the inexpert roll of Link’s hips against hers, and the combination of _that_ and her own ministrations—yes, that’s promising.

“Do you mind?” she asks breathlessly, and she doesn’t think Link hears her, but judging by the way he moans into her hair and grinds down harder, he doesn’t mind at all.

Zelda closes her eyes, holding Link close, mouth pressed against his ear so he can hear her, so he knows she’s enjoying it too, feeling him gasp and stutter against her skin. She pushes back against him and her own hand, drowning everything out until it’s just delicious friction and Link’s hot breath against her neck.

She goes quiet but for the occasional whimper, fingers moving frantically in time with Link’s thrusts until the feeling turns golden, pressure coiling low in her belly. His fingers grip her hips so hard she thinks they might bruise, but she doesn’t care, she’s strung tight, she’s so close.

With one last clumsy, blissful thrust from Link, the tension inside her shatters, and Zelda arches up against him, whining his name in a drawn-out cry. “ _Link—_ ”

—and Link chokes out, “ _Shit_ ,” abruptly withdrawing and scrambling back, and Zelda’s eyes snap open just in time to see him—

... all over her stomach.

For a moment, neither of them move, Zelda looking down at the mess, chest still heaving from her own climax. She sits up slowly, bewildered, feeling the evidence of Link’s release pooling in her navel, and her own arousal quickly subsiding. "... oh."

“I’m sorry,” Link whispers, mortified. “I panicked, and—oh, Goddesses, Zelda—I’m _so sorry._ ”

“It’s fine,” Zelda says shakily, recovering, trying to sit up further, but she feels it running down her sides and—no, it’s not fine. “Can you—can you get me something?”

“Yes, I—shit, I’m sorry,” Link says again.

He moves to get off her but Zelda says, “Wait, wait,” and quickly catches his face in her hands, pulling him down to give him a long kiss, feeling him smile in spite of himself. She breaks the kiss to pat his cheek, says, “Okay, now go,” and Link laughs and slips off the bed.

Link fetches a damp cloth and helps Zelda clean up, and they lie together afterwards—blankets pulled up to their armpits, fingers laced together as they stare up at the dark ceiling in silence. Suddenly, simultaneously, they turn to each other and grin, collapsing into giggles, rolling into the centre of the bed to exchange a long, exultant kiss.

“Worth the threat of decapitation?” Zelda quips as they break apart.

Link laughs. “After _that_ , I’d probably deserve it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Zelda curls her fingers into the hair at the nape of Link’s neck, pulling him closer. “I’m flattered, sort of.”

“Sort of,” Link echoes. He kisses her again, almost reluctantly, like he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. When he pulls away he asks, softly, “Was it okay? For you?”

Zelda hums contentedly, snuggling closer. “It was wonderful, Link. Truly.”

Link sighs, appeased, then gives her a slight nudge. “Turn over,” he says, “if Purah’s going to decapitate me tomorrow, I’d like to at least hold you tonight.”

Zelda obliges, laughing. “She wouldn’t.”

“She might,” Link replies.

“Okay,” Zelda concedes, “she might.”

It wasn’t quite exactly what she’d planned, Zelda thinks, Link curled around her, his arm slung over her waist as he kisses her shoulder affectionately. It wasn’t perfect, but it was still good, and it was still with Link, and that was what mattered, really. If she had the chance do it over, she wouldn’t change a thing.

“Zelda?” Link says sleepily.

“Yes, Link?”

“Can you move over a little? I’m lying in the wet spot.”

… okay, maybe just the one thing.

 


End file.
